


Rhythm of the Rain Keeps Time

by amsay



Series: South Park Drabble Bomb [1]
Category: South Park
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Filmore/Ike, SP Drabble Bomb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 16:45:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10723269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amsay/pseuds/amsay
Summary: Ike is stuck walking home in a torrential downpour, but Kenny McCormick becomes his knight in an old pick up.





	Rhythm of the Rain Keeps Time

**Author's Note:**

> There's like, no rain? Whateva whateva, I do wha' I want.

Spring was always a welcome season in South Park, where the winter started in late October and ran well into April. But when spring truly came, usually around the second week of May if they were lucky, she came with a vengeance. The temperature shot up, and the melted snow evaporated into the air to form thick clouds that hung around, leaving the town humid, misty, and wet. With the mountains surrounding them, the clouds had no where to go, and just... pissed down rain for what felt like forty days and forty nights.

So okay, Ike was being dramatic. But it was the sixth day of constant rain, breaks in the clouds few and far between. Sure, the air was warm and welcomed after the harsh winter temperatures, but the rain sunk to the skin and chilled the bones. And today was particularly stormy, the rain falling in thick sheets and flooding the streets. Quite unfortunate for someone who had no license in a town that was so small there wasn't public transport. It left Ike in the position to walk, drenched within seconds of leaving school. What was normally a fifteen, maybe twenty minute walk home would be half an hour, the water several centimetres above his ankle. And that was on the god damned sidewalk. The roads were all but a small river at this point.

Which meant those in school with vehicles, paired with the dislike of the weird Canadian kid, had a grand old time whipping by Ike and absolutely soaking him with the waves of rainwater caused by their tires. Exactly what happened the moment Ike was off school grounds and walking down the street. Filmore's bright red SUV zipping by, sending water to soak Ike from head to toe. They even had the balls to have their window open, laughs loud even through the rain.

"Fuck you, you ignorant sack of dicks!" Ike screamed, the car already too far for them to even hear. Everything was wet, his bag, himself... Fuck. So maybe he should have brought an umbrella, maybe it was his own fault for not being prepared. But his coat was only so waterproof, and his welligogs were no match to idiot fuckboys in cars.

Ike held his backpack to his chest, arms and body shielding his precious MacBook from the water, he continued his trek. The winds were picking up, and because Ike's luck was next to none, it sent the rain whipping against his face from the front. God forbid the weather be on his side and blow the other damn way. All he wanted was to get out of these wet clothes, and into a warm pair of pyjamas. Was that so much to fucking ask for? Apparently yes, but Ike was nothing if not persistent so he carried on.

Until he stopped, body bracing to take the blow of water that would surely come from the pick up truck speeding towards him. But it never came, and Ike opened his eyes to see the truck slow, rolling to a stop beside him. Ike squinted to see, watching as a blonde head leaned over the seat and rolled down the window. "Baby, make sure you've got enough sandbags, because the storm isn't the only one that's going to be flooding your basement," the blonde said and Ike sighed.

"Hi, Kenny," Ike called back, stepping closer to poke his head in the window and nod a greeting. "Hasn't anyone ever told you it's impolite to cat call?"

Kenny shook his head, grinning. "Get in, kid. Don't worry about getting anything wet. You wouldn't be the first one soaking these seats," he laughed, and Ike pulled the door open and climbed inside. "You're disgusting," he said, and tossed the bag into the back seat. "But thanks."

Ike was grateful to be out of the rain, the heat warming his hands and face. They stayed quiet for a minute, before Kenny spoke. "How's your brother? He never calls, always too busy to talk to his best bud, Kenny." He didn't sound to beat up about it. Ike knew what he meant, though. Kyle rarely called them either, occasionally sending him a text or two to confirm he wasn't dead. But that was the price they had to pay, with Kyle in grad school and dealing with all the shit Cartman dealt him on a daily basis now that they lived together in Denver.

"You probably know more than I do," Ike said, wiping water from his forehead as if dripped down from his hair. "Last I heard he was bailing Cartman out of jail a couple weeks ago." Ike had gotten a long string of rant texts about it.

Beside him, Kenny laughed. "Oh, I know. It's how own fault for finally getting with that fat ass, he knew what it would entail. Couldn't have settled down with someone nice, like Stan. I was rooting for Stan, you know." Ike couldn't help but snort. He couldn't imagine Kyle actually dating Stan. Maybe that was because Ike had had a crush on Stan when he was a kid, looking up to his hockey coach. Stan was a handsome guy, Ike couldn't have helped it. "Nah," Ike argued. "It was always Cartman. Kyle's too argumentative to be with Stan. They'd never have worked. Kyle needs drama. He says he doesn't and he says he hates it but if he did he wouldn't have put up with the bullshit you guys all caused. Cartman still gives him that, even if you've all grown up and separated."

Kenny shrugged, taking Ike's words into consideration before nodding in agreement. "True, boredom would kill any of us. Hell, its killin' me. I miss them. Even that fat fuck." Ike could hear the sadness in Kenny's voice. His three closest friends were gone, Stan doing volunteer work in Africa. Kyle studying law, Cartman just... Ike didn't even know what Cartman did. He just knew he paid for everything Kyle needed and got himself into all sorts of trouble that needed Kyle's constant attention. And Kenny was just... here. In South Park, where Ike was. Where Ike felt like he would always be. The only alternative he even pondered was going to Canada next year to the University of Canada. The only University in Canada.

"Come over," Kenny said after a few moments of silence. Ike nodded, figuring why not? It wasn't like he had any friends. And Kenny's friends were gone. They could be loners together. "Alright," Ike agreed, and looked down at himself. "I'm soaked, though."

It didn't seem to phase Kenny, shaking his head as he turned a corner. "I'll loan you a change of clothes," he said and Ike's heart sped up a few beats at the idea of wearing Kenny's clothes. He didn't know why. Well, he did. It was the same feeling Ike had when he'd stripped out of his clothes and into Filmore's bed over the winter holidays. There was that feeling of knowing there was more than what was being implied, and Ike had half a mind to reject and say no, he'd just go home and study. But it was Friday. He didn't have homework, or at least homework that mattered. And he was still scorned over Filmore 'Fuckboy' Anderson using and tossing him away.

"Okay," Ike said. "Okay." The more rational part of Ike's mind pointed out that this was probably nothing more than just... a lonely Kenny missing his friends and Ike was the next best thing. Which was fine with Ike, really. It wasn't as if he had any friends either. This was just two dudes hanging out, Kenny doing Ike a solid and getting him out of the rain and out of his boring house.

Kenny perked up when Ike agreed, though. He hummed along to the radio, fingers tapping out the beat on the steering wheel. Ike watched him, studied Kenny's face. Classic Aryan race type, handsome. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Despite his crush on Stan when he was a kid, Kenny had easily grown up to be the hottest of Kyle's friends. Ike's staring lasted too long, Kenny's head turning to give him a wink. "I'm really, really ridiculously good looking, right?" Kenny asked, and Ike's cheeks flushed red. He hoped he could pass it off as being cold. Doubtful, but it was worth a shot. Ike remained cool, however. "I've seen better," he said, trying hard to sound bored.

Kenny pulled into a parking spot, and stopped the car only to turn and look at Ike with a hand on his heart as if the kid had wounded him. "Wow, Ike. I know you get to look into a mirror every day and see perfection, but the least you could do is humour a guy like me." How he held a straight face through that, Ike didn't know. Especially since he was far from good looking.

He was Canadian. That was like, scientifically impossible. "Now you're just being a dick," Ike said, rolling his eyes and undoing his seat belt before leaning in the back seat to grab his bag. Behind him, Kenny made some sort of noise of indignation and hopped out of the truck. Ike did the same, shortly after, hanging his bag off his shoulder. The rain was still coming down in buckets, soaking Kenny in the seconds it took to run from the car and into the foyer of the apartment.

"Jesus," Kenny said as he shook his hair out like some sort of dog. Ike had to turn to avoid the onslaught of water from it.

\--

Kenny's apartment was small, but Ike instantly felt at home in it. Perhaps that was a bit presumptuous, but he couldn't help it. Especially once Kenny had come from the bedroom and tossed Ike a pair of pyjama pants a tee shirt. They felt warm in his cold hands. Dry. Ike could hardly wait to get out of his jeans, feeling tight from the water. He stood by the front door for a moment, Kenny watching him. "I like your rain boots," he said as Ike leaned against the wall to pull them off. They were a bright yellow, classic pair of wellies. "Thanks, I got them ironically," Ike said, voice serious. He ended up growing to like them, strangely enough. But the initial purchase was because they were big, yellow and ugly. Ike tossed them where the other shoes were, tucked against the other wall.

He was still dripping wet, and Ike had no intention of leaving water all through Kenny's apartment. So he removed his coat, hanging it on the hooks to dry a little, before peel his sodden jeans off. "Where's your washroom?" Ike asked, tossing the jeans across his shoulder so his wet shirt would catch the drips.

"Down the hall, to the left," Kenny called.

Whilst in the washroom, Ike did a little bit of visual snooping as he changed out of his wet clothes. The tooth brush Kenny had laying on the sink. His razor plugged into the wall. Two unmatched towels stuffed into the rack by the shower that Ike resisted temptation to fold and hang properly. Most curiously were the feminine things in the bathroom. A tube of lipstick. A bottle of perfume. A box of tampons. All stored on shelves above the toilet. Ike wondered if Kenny had a girlfriend. If so, Ike wondered why neither of them bothered to fold up the towels instead of leaving them damp and crumpled up between the bar and the wall.

Ike hung his wet clothes on the shower curtain rod, hoping they'd dry out before it was time to leave. But Kenny's clothes were a blessing, even if it maybe was a little weird to be wearing the underpants of a guy who was one of his brothers best friends. And they were too big, too. But they were warm and comfortable, and smelled like whatever detergent Kenny did his washing up in.

When he left the washroom, Kenny was seated on the couch with a can in hand. Upon seeing Ike, he tossed one his way. There was a reason Ike wasn't a goalie on the hockey team, and that was his complete inability to stop an object flying at him. Unless it with his body, as it was now. The can hit him in the chest, and Ike tried to stop it with his hands. And then feet. But it fell to the floor with a clang. When he picked it up, it was dented and Ike hoped it was from the floor and not his strangely angular Canadian body.

He held the can in his hand, blinking down at it before looking at Kenny. He was holding back laughter, hiding it with his beer at his lips. "I'm too young to drink," Ike commented, tapping at the top of the can to try and curb some of the inevitable frothing when it was opened.

"You're eighteen," Kenny replied. "Technically.... technically you're an adult." Ike watched as Kenny's face went from amusement to some form of realization and Ike felt that full body flush again. He stood up taller, determined not to let his mind come up with anything more than this was. He patted the cushion next to him, and Ike went over to sink into the old thing. "Your chesterfield smells like beer and weed, dude," Ike commented, and Kenny scoffed. Offended, but not at the same time.

"Dude, did you just call my couch a Chesterfield?" Kenny deadpanned, staring at Ike as if he was some sort of alien. "Sometimes I forget you're a Canuck," he laughed. Now it was Ike's turn to stare, only to gesture around his head. "How the fuck can you forget, look at me! My mouth is massive, and my eyes are pretty much entirely irises." It was weird, he had like, no whites of his eyes. It was such a classic Canadian look, wide mouth, large irises that made your eyes look dark and beady looking. And his body was pointy in all the wrong places. Elbows. Knees. Shoulders. Hips. All of them were sharp. Compared to the softness of his American friends and family's... Ike had a bit of a complex.

"Hey, don't hate on a big mouth. It has perks," Kenny smirked, making a crude motion with his hand and mouth, and Ike smacked him in the shoulder. "But seriously," he chuckled, "you're not bad looking. You're Canadian, not ugly. They're not synonymous." Ike would disagree, but whatever. The compliments were nicer than the usual stupid insults he got from his classmates. But he didn't know what to say to that, so instead he put the can to his lips and drank.

\--

Ike was three beers in, and feeling drunk, Maybe that was weak of him, since Kenny had like, five and was doing just fine.

"I never drink," Ike said, leaning against Kenny's side and stared at the television. He wasn't watching it, not really. It was just some marvel movie pulled up on Netflix to have background noise. "I never do anything," he continued, turning his head to rest his forehead against Kenny's shoulder. Over the course of the couple hours Ike had been here, Kenny's arm had found its way around Ike, his legs curled up under him. They were cuddling, and neither of them seemed to mind. Grateful for the company, really.

"Neither do I," Kenny said, hand coming up to fluff up Ike's now dried hair. "Just work, eat, sleep." He passed a joint to Ike, and Ike took it between two fingers. He'd smoked on the rare times he sat outside with Firkle, both preferring to be away from everyone else even if it meant sitting together. But cigarettes were hard to swallow, leaving Ike coughing and spluttering like an idiot every time, begging Firkle for water only to be told that the pain and suffocating was what smoking was for.

This was easier to handle, Ike still coughing but feeling less like he was killing himself and more like turning his brain down for a bit. "No one likes me," Ike whined, smoke puffing out of his mouth with each word until there was nothing left. He took another hit before passing it back, coughing slightly. But he was getting better. "I'm a pretentious know it all, apparently." They weren't wrong, Ike was a pretentious know it all. "I watch CSPAN, I buy clothes ironically, I listen to fucking classical music. I get straight A's and I don't even try. I play a fucking Autoharp, Kenny. An autoharp. Do you know what an autoharp is? Here's a hint; it's not a harp!" Ike ranted, throwing his hands up to emphasize his points. "I don't even like me! Why would anyone else?"

Kenny was laughing at him, though. And Ike's hands fell as he watched, feeling hurt by it. It must have shown on his face, though, because Kenny's laugh stopped and he shook his head. "No, no! I'm not laughing at you, man. It's just... I like you fine. We all liked you, even Cartman. Those kids you're with are just stupid. You've always been older than you were," Kenny said, squishing Ike against him as he sucked on the joint between his lips. In any other scenario, Ike would try and squirm away. But Kenny was soft, comfortable. He smelled good. He smelled like cheap cologne, pot, beer and something metallic but it was comforting.

Ike didn't say anything, just sat there and listened to Chris Evans croon on about Bucky or something as thunder cracked in the background. Until one particularly violent flash of lightening, followed immediately by thunder and then by... nothing. Because the lights were out. The TV was off. Every little appliance producing white noise was no longer running, leaving the apartment strangely quiet. He could hear Kenny's breathing. The only other noise was that of the violent rain on the windows and walls. "Well, that fucking sucks," Kenny said, leaning forward to stub the rolled joint out in the ashtray on the coffee table. He got up, leaving Ike alone on the couch, and looked out the window.

"Looks like everything is out," the blonde said. "Wanna spend the night?" Ike was unsure of why those two things were part of the same thought. He was even more unsure of why he agreed to it. "Okay," he said. It was Friday, he had no homework. He had nothing better to do. And his heart pounded behind his rib cage again, that feeling of anxiety that came every time he felt like he was making some step towards something more than simple cuddles.

\--

Ike couldn't even remember how they'd started kissing. They'd been talking, drinking. Ike had been excitedly chatting about Canada's contributions to the international space station, or something. And then they were... here. Ike laying on his back on the sofa, Kenny knelt over top of him as they kissed, drunk and sloppy. In Ike's case, also inexperienced. He had limited knowledge of this, but what he lacked, Kenny more than made up for. He hadn't known what to do with his hands, deciding to wrap them up around Kenny's neck to bury them in his shaggy blonde hair, gently tugging at the roots every time Kenny did... well, anything. But especially when Kenny moved his lips from Ike's mouth, trailing kisses along his jaw to his ear lobe before sucking it between his teeth for a nibble. The noise Ike made was an embarrassing squeal, thankful for the clap of thunder that helped mask it. But it didn't hide his shudder, the arch of his hips to try and make contact with any part of Kenny's body that he could.

With Kenny kneeling, it was useless. So Ike removed a hand from his hair, sliding it between them to grab hold of the waistband of Kenny's track pants. He pulled, bringing Kenny down on top of him, and ground his hard cock against his thigh with a satisfied groan.

"Eager little beaver, aren't you?" Kenny mumbled into his ear, but he wasn't complaining. Far from it. On his own thigh, Ike could feel the blonde's hardness through his pants. At least it was reciprocated. "It's been a while," Ike breathed out, trying to wrap a leg around Kenny's calf to hold them tighter together. He was eighteen, he had needs. And he never really did anything about them.

Kenny pushed himself up, trying to dislodge himself from Ike. But Ike held on, desperate to keep contact. He was kinda drunk, kinda high, and super horny in the way that only a teenage boy probably could be. "Relax," Kenny laughed, pressing a long kiss to Ike's lips. "When was the last time you got laid?"

Ike wasn't sure if he should answer, wanting to just lie and say never. But that irritating voice from those sex ed videos chimed in never to lie about sexual partners with another person. Diseases and shit. "Before Christmas. With Filmore. Fucking sucked. First and last ti-" Ike said, ready to go off on a tangent just thinking about Filmore and the rendezvous they had. But Kenny cut him off by sucking a bruise into the nape of his neck, causing Ike to moan loud and unabashedly. He felt embarrassed at not being able to silence himself, but it seemed to only encourage Kenny to continue. "I'll show you better," Kenny promised against Ike's pale skin.

\--

Kenny did show him better. Ike had known better than to expect sunshine and rainbows his first time. He knew that virginity was a social construct and had no significant impact on anything. But when he'd been with Filmore, a concocted plan for humiliation and guilt, it had an effect. Until last night and all through the early morning where Kenny had shown him nothing but affection, good sex, and respect. Ike didn't know what love was, didn't think it could come after spending one tipsy night with a friend of his brothers, but it felt pretty close.

It was morning now, the rain still torrential and the thunder still loud. But the window was open, wind blowing the smell of ozone into the room to mix with the scent of sex. Kenny's mismatched sheets and duvet were warm, and his body was a solid comfort. Ike felt relaxed in his arms, sharing lazy Saturday morning kisses. He didn't care that they hadn't brushed their teeth. That Kenny tasted like old beer and barbecue potato chips and cheap coffee. Somehow that made it better, and Ike couldn't help but hope that the rain wouldn't ever end and he could stay here forever.


End file.
